Whew, long day. In which I successfully demonstrated how not to turn in my driving lesson, got about a fifth of the work required for Uni tomorrow done, and did a massive food shop, including the caramel chocolate digestives which I am currently using for writing motivation. Yeah, so much for being healthy. Too much work and Uni and no exercise makes Lewis a fat man.
But really, either my life is getting a LOT busier, or I'm just not utilising my time properly any more. Or maybe some mixture of the two. Either way, I just don't seem to have enough time to do everything and it sucks. Is this being an adult? If so no thank you.
I was, however, in a rather good mood today, as I realised that not only did I have Friday off work, but also Thursday. This is good because... You know what, screw it, my writing seems appalling right now. I'm lacking mental energy and my internal critic is too strong. So let's just get on with the actual writing challenge.
Just a First Sentence Stick today because meh.
First Sentence Stick - 'He swore on his mother's grave, but then he swore on just about everything.' -
--
He swore on his mother's grave, but then he swore on just about everything. His Mum wasn't even dead. It was just something he'd heard other people say. George didn't really know what he was saying half the time, he just wanted to impress people, and anything he said was said solely for that purpose. It didn't matter if it was actually true, or if it was an outright lie - if it suited the situation, he would say it.
This was what really bugged Miranda. She had tried and tried to put up with it, but she couldn't any longer. Either George had to change, or she would find herself a new best friend.
'So that's when I saved the-' began George.
'George, can I speak a second?' the group turned to face Miranda. The group consisted of Miranda's friends - girls from her college course. George had tagged along on their night out the minute he saw them walk into his usual pub. They'd only gone in for a pint, to see who was out, but somehow they'd ended up in there for hours. George's own friends had ditched him an hour ago. Miranda hated this pub.
George nodded, and Miranda took him to one side.
'George, you've got to stop with all the bullshit.' She received a blank look. 'Seriously, George.'
'What do you mean?'
'The amount of made-up stories and whatever. You can't keep doing it. I don't know how you've got away with it for so long, but nobody likes a liar, George.'
'You know me, Miranda. It's just how I talk. It's my style, ya know.'
'No, George. It was your style. Eventually people are gonna realise, and then you'll have no friends.'
'I'll make new friends.'
'George...' she sighed. 'It just doesn't work like that. You've got to build on relationships that already exist. This is why you haven't had a girlfriend in years...'
He stuttered, rushing to find some cliche or lie to defend himself with.
'Don't, George. It's true, and I know it's harsh, but you've got to realise. You're being so self-destructive and I just can't watch it any more.'
He looked at her then, their eyes meeting. She could see he was beginning to tear up. As much of a front as he put on, George was a sensitive soul at heart.
'Is everything okay guys?' called one of Miranda's friends.
'You guys having an argument?' asked another.
George turned and smiled at them, any trace of anger or sadness gone from his face.
'Nah, everything's fine. Swear on me Mum's grave.'
--
Okay, definitely not my best work, but that was a really crap Stick I was dealt. Give me something I can make sci-fi out of and I'll write for days, but boring real life crap is why I read and write in order to escape.
Talking of boring real life crap, I've gotta sleep now, or I won't be up for Uni in the morning. Peace out guys.
12 Oct 2015
11 Oct 2015
Inspiration Writing Challenge - Day 6
As deadlines loom,
I feel my doom,
Swift approaching,
Ever encroaching,
As I procrastinate,
I obfuscate,
The quality of my work.
Ta-da, see, I can do poetry too.
Anyway, today's (second) writing challenge will involve something different. The 'Sixth Sense' cards are a Writing Toolbox device that is devoted to the senses. Each card has on it a short phrase designed to invoke one of the senses around a specific subject (e.g. 'The taste of Almonds') the writing exercise involves placing three cards face down, and writing for a few minutes on each of them in turn. So here goes.
Card 1 - 'sticky raspberry yoghurt -
Card 2 - 'the sound of a garden hose' -
Card 3 - 'blue index cards' -
The yoghurt went everywhere, all over the aisle floor. Dean sighed as the customer looked around sheepishly, trying to ascertain if anybody had seen him drop it. Their eyes met, and the customer began walking over.
'Sorry mate,' he said. 'Butter fingers.'
'S'okay,' replied Dead. 'I'll go get a mop.' The customer smiled then, back to normal, as if nothing had happened. That was what annoyed Dean the most, when they just acted like it was nothing, like causing him trouble was just a trifling matter. He knew that it was, of course, but he still found it rude.
He made his way into the back of the store to retrieve the cleaning equipment. He heard an odd noise, the sound of a garden hose - no, not a garden hose, but the hose attached to the sink in the cleaning area. It was running, somebody had left it on in the sink, obviously for quite a while, because the sink was now overflowing. The water was trickling down to make a large puddle, which was quickly becoming much larger. Dean rushed over, splashing through the water to get to the tap, he turned it round, cutting off the flow of water.
'For fuck's sake,' he muttered. This was all he needed, more stuff to get in the way of a nice, peaceful shift. Soon he realised that the puddle was still spreading, he looked for where it was coming from and discovered a leak in the pipe. Not only had someone left the tap on, they'd also somehow dislodged to pipe from its housing against the wall. There was nothing else for it, he'd have to tell the boss.
He went upstairs to the office, and knocked on the open door. Dean could see his manager filing some blue index cards on his desk. Pretty old fashioned, but his store was just that. An old shop in and old town that refused to update to more modern methods. His boss himself was aged - white hair, glasses, and a stooped walk.
'Come in,' came the reply. Dean walked into the office. The manager picked up the cards, his hands shaking, before he promptly dropped them, spilling all over the desk.
'Oh, fudge,' his manager cursed. Pushing the cards further away across the desk in his frustration. Two of them fell to Dean's feet. Dean bent down to pick them up.
'What seems to be the matter, Dean?' the manager asked.
'You know, it doesn't matter,' he replied, and walked off. He didn't stop walking until he got out of the front doors of the shop, where he threw his apron to the ground.
--
Eh, so that one probably spoke volumes about my frustrations at work, and was all the worse for it. Definitely not my best of these writing challenges. I guess 'write what you know' doesn't always make your writing better.
I feel my doom,
Swift approaching,
Ever encroaching,
As I procrastinate,
I obfuscate,
The quality of my work.
Ta-da, see, I can do poetry too.
Anyway, today's (second) writing challenge will involve something different. The 'Sixth Sense' cards are a Writing Toolbox device that is devoted to the senses. Each card has on it a short phrase designed to invoke one of the senses around a specific subject (e.g. 'The taste of Almonds') the writing exercise involves placing three cards face down, and writing for a few minutes on each of them in turn. So here goes.
Card 1 - 'sticky raspberry yoghurt -
Card 2 - 'the sound of a garden hose' -
Card 3 - 'blue index cards' -
The yoghurt went everywhere, all over the aisle floor. Dean sighed as the customer looked around sheepishly, trying to ascertain if anybody had seen him drop it. Their eyes met, and the customer began walking over.
'Sorry mate,' he said. 'Butter fingers.'
'S'okay,' replied Dead. 'I'll go get a mop.' The customer smiled then, back to normal, as if nothing had happened. That was what annoyed Dean the most, when they just acted like it was nothing, like causing him trouble was just a trifling matter. He knew that it was, of course, but he still found it rude.
He made his way into the back of the store to retrieve the cleaning equipment. He heard an odd noise, the sound of a garden hose - no, not a garden hose, but the hose attached to the sink in the cleaning area. It was running, somebody had left it on in the sink, obviously for quite a while, because the sink was now overflowing. The water was trickling down to make a large puddle, which was quickly becoming much larger. Dean rushed over, splashing through the water to get to the tap, he turned it round, cutting off the flow of water.
'For fuck's sake,' he muttered. This was all he needed, more stuff to get in the way of a nice, peaceful shift. Soon he realised that the puddle was still spreading, he looked for where it was coming from and discovered a leak in the pipe. Not only had someone left the tap on, they'd also somehow dislodged to pipe from its housing against the wall. There was nothing else for it, he'd have to tell the boss.
He went upstairs to the office, and knocked on the open door. Dean could see his manager filing some blue index cards on his desk. Pretty old fashioned, but his store was just that. An old shop in and old town that refused to update to more modern methods. His boss himself was aged - white hair, glasses, and a stooped walk.
'Come in,' came the reply. Dean walked into the office. The manager picked up the cards, his hands shaking, before he promptly dropped them, spilling all over the desk.
'Oh, fudge,' his manager cursed. Pushing the cards further away across the desk in his frustration. Two of them fell to Dean's feet. Dean bent down to pick them up.
'What seems to be the matter, Dean?' the manager asked.
'You know, it doesn't matter,' he replied, and walked off. He didn't stop walking until he got out of the front doors of the shop, where he threw his apron to the ground.
--
Eh, so that one probably spoke volumes about my frustrations at work, and was all the worse for it. Definitely not my best of these writing challenges. I guess 'write what you know' doesn't always make your writing better.
Inspiration Writing Challenge - Day 5 (but actually Day 6, oops)
Well, so much for that run of perfectly updating the blog every day, we all knew it was gonna happen. I had a busy day yesterday, so the blog just kind of... didn't happen.
Because of this, today you get not one but two blog posts - this being the first of them. Had a ten and a half hour shift at work today too, so I'm beat, as usual!
Forgive me if I get straight on with the writing 'today'.
Today (or rather, for yesterday's writing) I'll be writing from just a First Sentence stick.
First Sentence Stick - 'I put tulips under all the pillows, and then I set fire to the house.' -
I put tulips under all the pillows, and then I set fire to the house. It was my calling card. The police had been tracking me, even sending special investigations detectives out to find me, but had no luck. I was too good. It was frustrating in a way, I relished the idea of a challenge, and nobody so far had provided any. I'd been following one detective in particular, one Peter Hollister - the lead detective in my case. It was his house that I had set fire to.
Screams of alarm came from within as the occupants realised what was happening. The reaction was delayed, as I had first deactivated their fire alarm system. My stealthiness was beyond compare. As I placed the tulips below the heads of Hollister, his wife and their child, none had so much as stirred. I was proud of my work as I watched from across the street.
Confident that my message had been sent, I began strolling away from the scene. As I walked along the street, neighbours began emerging from their houses.
'Have you phoned 999 mate?' called one in my direction. I made no response but to raise my hood and quicken my pace. Within minutes I was blocks away from the house, safe in my car. It was quite sad to think that a seasoned detective would live on a street with no CCTV, serving to make my task that much easier.
As I started my engine up, the fire service barreled past me in their multiple vehicles. I had phoned the emergency services, before I even started the fire, leaving an anonymous call via a disposable phone. No matter the small amount of trouble Hollister was causing me, I did have respect for him. He'd come the closest to finding me.
My 'message' would serve to truly test his mettle, his response would be one of two. This threat on him and his family would either deter him from my case, making him leave it in favour of the safety of himself and his loved ones, or - and this was my preferred scenario - the act would spur him on to pursue me further, perhaps even bringing him closer to my capture. I knew he still stood no chance, but this testing of him was how I got my kicks. When you're as brilliant as I am, playing with human lives becomes a game.
As I drove into the distance, I pictured the headlines the next day, heading articles describing how an officer involved in a manhunt for a national arsonist had been nearly killed by his quarry. I smiled, stopping to let an old woman cross at a zebra crossing. She saw my smile and gave one in return, along with a small wave of thanks - if only she knew.
--
Hmmm, so that was a great first sentence, I'd have liked to have done more with that, but hey. Maybe next time.
Because of this, today you get not one but two blog posts - this being the first of them. Had a ten and a half hour shift at work today too, so I'm beat, as usual!
Forgive me if I get straight on with the writing 'today'.
Today (or rather, for yesterday's writing) I'll be writing from just a First Sentence stick.
First Sentence Stick - 'I put tulips under all the pillows, and then I set fire to the house.' -
I put tulips under all the pillows, and then I set fire to the house. It was my calling card. The police had been tracking me, even sending special investigations detectives out to find me, but had no luck. I was too good. It was frustrating in a way, I relished the idea of a challenge, and nobody so far had provided any. I'd been following one detective in particular, one Peter Hollister - the lead detective in my case. It was his house that I had set fire to.
Screams of alarm came from within as the occupants realised what was happening. The reaction was delayed, as I had first deactivated their fire alarm system. My stealthiness was beyond compare. As I placed the tulips below the heads of Hollister, his wife and their child, none had so much as stirred. I was proud of my work as I watched from across the street.
Confident that my message had been sent, I began strolling away from the scene. As I walked along the street, neighbours began emerging from their houses.
'Have you phoned 999 mate?' called one in my direction. I made no response but to raise my hood and quicken my pace. Within minutes I was blocks away from the house, safe in my car. It was quite sad to think that a seasoned detective would live on a street with no CCTV, serving to make my task that much easier.
As I started my engine up, the fire service barreled past me in their multiple vehicles. I had phoned the emergency services, before I even started the fire, leaving an anonymous call via a disposable phone. No matter the small amount of trouble Hollister was causing me, I did have respect for him. He'd come the closest to finding me.
My 'message' would serve to truly test his mettle, his response would be one of two. This threat on him and his family would either deter him from my case, making him leave it in favour of the safety of himself and his loved ones, or - and this was my preferred scenario - the act would spur him on to pursue me further, perhaps even bringing him closer to my capture. I knew he still stood no chance, but this testing of him was how I got my kicks. When you're as brilliant as I am, playing with human lives becomes a game.
As I drove into the distance, I pictured the headlines the next day, heading articles describing how an officer involved in a manhunt for a national arsonist had been nearly killed by his quarry. I smiled, stopping to let an old woman cross at a zebra crossing. She saw my smile and gave one in return, along with a small wave of thanks - if only she knew.
--
Hmmm, so that was a great first sentence, I'd have liked to have done more with that, but hey. Maybe next time.
9 Oct 2015
Inspiration Writing Challenge - Day 4
Here we are again, turning into quite the regular thing now. Maybe I can actually keep this up? Whodathunkit?
So my plan today was to go to work to make up for the Sunday I missed (oops) for a few hours then do Uni work. What actually happened was: Work > Home > Procrastinate > Small amount of Uni work > Shopping Trip > Blog. This will probably be followed by several drinks, possibly a cinema trip, and hopefully a fairly good evening overall. Because Uni work is simultaneously the highest and lowest of my priorities.
So today my background music of choice for writing is the soundtrack to Dragon Age: Origins! It's a game that has aged a fair bit but still remains one of my favourites.
On with the writing I guess.
Today I'll be writing from a 'First Sentence' stick and a 'Last Straw' stick. The 'Last Straw' sticks are designed to introduce conflict into the narrative. The one downside I can see to this, is if I go off on a very specific route with the narrative, such as the post-apocalyptic gist yesterday, something completely irrelevant to that would throw the narrative off completely. According to the book accompanying the 'Writer's Toolbox', this is entirely the point. Oh well, we'll just have to see how it goes.
First Sentence Stick - 'The only way John could pass the exam was by cheating.' -
Last Straw Stick - 'the way she made tea' -
--
The only way John could pass the exam was by cheating. Fortunately, cheating would be incredibly easy. John had found the flaw in the examination within the first week. The unfortunate thing was that however easily John found it to cheat, this same cleverness was not applied to the work involved in the actual revision for the actual test. John was both lazy and incredibly active minded that way.
His method for cheating went something like this: The examination board required the students to be seated in alphabetical order, so all the student's names who were sitting that particular test were laid out on the individual desks located in the sports hall of the school. This way, John knew exactly who was sitting where, located directly in front of him was one Edward Woodson, who, coincidentally, was one of the brightest students in the class. Bright enough to receive a small bribe, anyway.
John's second part of the plan was, he thought, genius. As the tests were very long, and certain students had certain dietary requirements, a rule had been created that allowed for all students to take a small bag of food in with them. Most students used this rule to smuggle sweets in with them.
One trip to the local corner shop later, John had equipped himself with a bag of Skittles. The third part of the test slotted in very nicely with the first two. The test was multiple choice, with four answers to each question. One very time consuming activity later, the Skittles were organised so that there were only four varieties of colour left in the packet. These were then given to Ed.
Ed, sat in front of John, would then, theoretically, attribute a certain colour to a certain answer - green for a, blue for b, red for c, purple for d. Then, in the order of the questions, Edward would hold up the colour of Skittle associated with the answer. Not eat it, just hold it up in the air, in full view of those behind him.
Now, John was a very profit focused young man, and his idea had already cost him just shy of ten pounds. He had to make his money back somehow. So, he wasn't the only one that was in on his plan. He sent message over social media to all of his friends that were also on the test, and also located behind Edward in the seating arrangement of the testing hall. He didn't tell them straight away however, only after a small fee, one or two pounds each, had been paid to John.
--
Of course, this plan had a very, very obvious downfall. Not everybody could be trusted. John's girlfriend of the time, Alicia, was the first person to be introduced to John's plan. Now, they were sat in her bedroom, or rather, John was, and Alicia was making them both tea. A few minutes later she returned upstairs with the freshly warm mugs. She handed John his. He took a sip and milliseconds later a sharp breath.
'Fuck, Leesh, that's boiling.'
She sighed. That god-awful sigh that really grated on his nerves. He ignored her, leaving his tea to cool down.
'I wish you wouldn't do that,' she huffed.
'What?'
'Have a fucking go at me for making you a cup of tea. Anybody else would be grateful!'
'Well sorry if you can't make a fucking cuppa, Leesh. Fuck sake. What you fucking swearing for anyway?'
'You are?'
'What?'
'Swearing. You always swear at me.'
'No, I don't!' John's voice was raised now. Another argument! He was getting sick to death of these.
That was how it ended, a three year relationship, out the window over a cup of PG Tips tea. John left her house that day with all his stuff that was there. No drawn out 'will-they-split-up-or-won't-they' phase, just all ties severed there and then.
When the day of the test came, John sat down, a few seats in front of Alicia, and half the hall's length behind Edward. He had a smug grin on his face. He met his teacher's gaze as she walked past, and she responded with a smile of her own. Not just a normal smile, though, but a very knowing smile.
Somebody walked in then, somebody John didn't recognise. An adjudicator, he thought. His teacher had said there would be some of them. The new woman walked all the way the front of the hall, and tapped Edward on the shoulder.
This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not after everything he'd put into arranging this. The woman led Edward towards the back of the hall. John, and many other students, watched as he walked. Eventually he passed John and he turned to keep track. As he turned, he saw Alicia, a wide smirk on her lips, looking straight at him. She laughed, and flicked open the test as the teacher called the start of the exam.
--
So that one ran a bit longer, I think. I just wrote for as long as I felt way right, ya know. I think, however, knowing that there was going to be something to cause conflict coming, I began to write that into my prose before I even turned over the stick... So maybe I'll just have to pick a random one out next time, or try one of the other tools.
Find out next time!
L.A. Gladwell out!
So my plan today was to go to work to make up for the Sunday I missed (oops) for a few hours then do Uni work. What actually happened was: Work > Home > Procrastinate > Small amount of Uni work > Shopping Trip > Blog. This will probably be followed by several drinks, possibly a cinema trip, and hopefully a fairly good evening overall. Because Uni work is simultaneously the highest and lowest of my priorities.
So today my background music of choice for writing is the soundtrack to Dragon Age: Origins! It's a game that has aged a fair bit but still remains one of my favourites.
On with the writing I guess.
Today I'll be writing from a 'First Sentence' stick and a 'Last Straw' stick. The 'Last Straw' sticks are designed to introduce conflict into the narrative. The one downside I can see to this, is if I go off on a very specific route with the narrative, such as the post-apocalyptic gist yesterday, something completely irrelevant to that would throw the narrative off completely. According to the book accompanying the 'Writer's Toolbox', this is entirely the point. Oh well, we'll just have to see how it goes.
First Sentence Stick - 'The only way John could pass the exam was by cheating.' -
Last Straw Stick - 'the way she made tea' -
--
The only way John could pass the exam was by cheating. Fortunately, cheating would be incredibly easy. John had found the flaw in the examination within the first week. The unfortunate thing was that however easily John found it to cheat, this same cleverness was not applied to the work involved in the actual revision for the actual test. John was both lazy and incredibly active minded that way.
His method for cheating went something like this: The examination board required the students to be seated in alphabetical order, so all the student's names who were sitting that particular test were laid out on the individual desks located in the sports hall of the school. This way, John knew exactly who was sitting where, located directly in front of him was one Edward Woodson, who, coincidentally, was one of the brightest students in the class. Bright enough to receive a small bribe, anyway.
John's second part of the plan was, he thought, genius. As the tests were very long, and certain students had certain dietary requirements, a rule had been created that allowed for all students to take a small bag of food in with them. Most students used this rule to smuggle sweets in with them.
One trip to the local corner shop later, John had equipped himself with a bag of Skittles. The third part of the test slotted in very nicely with the first two. The test was multiple choice, with four answers to each question. One very time consuming activity later, the Skittles were organised so that there were only four varieties of colour left in the packet. These were then given to Ed.
Ed, sat in front of John, would then, theoretically, attribute a certain colour to a certain answer - green for a, blue for b, red for c, purple for d. Then, in the order of the questions, Edward would hold up the colour of Skittle associated with the answer. Not eat it, just hold it up in the air, in full view of those behind him.
Now, John was a very profit focused young man, and his idea had already cost him just shy of ten pounds. He had to make his money back somehow. So, he wasn't the only one that was in on his plan. He sent message over social media to all of his friends that were also on the test, and also located behind Edward in the seating arrangement of the testing hall. He didn't tell them straight away however, only after a small fee, one or two pounds each, had been paid to John.
--
Of course, this plan had a very, very obvious downfall. Not everybody could be trusted. John's girlfriend of the time, Alicia, was the first person to be introduced to John's plan. Now, they were sat in her bedroom, or rather, John was, and Alicia was making them both tea. A few minutes later she returned upstairs with the freshly warm mugs. She handed John his. He took a sip and milliseconds later a sharp breath.
'Fuck, Leesh, that's boiling.'
She sighed. That god-awful sigh that really grated on his nerves. He ignored her, leaving his tea to cool down.
'I wish you wouldn't do that,' she huffed.
'What?'
'Have a fucking go at me for making you a cup of tea. Anybody else would be grateful!'
'Well sorry if you can't make a fucking cuppa, Leesh. Fuck sake. What you fucking swearing for anyway?'
'You are?'
'What?'
'Swearing. You always swear at me.'
'No, I don't!' John's voice was raised now. Another argument! He was getting sick to death of these.
That was how it ended, a three year relationship, out the window over a cup of PG Tips tea. John left her house that day with all his stuff that was there. No drawn out 'will-they-split-up-or-won't-they' phase, just all ties severed there and then.
When the day of the test came, John sat down, a few seats in front of Alicia, and half the hall's length behind Edward. He had a smug grin on his face. He met his teacher's gaze as she walked past, and she responded with a smile of her own. Not just a normal smile, though, but a very knowing smile.
Somebody walked in then, somebody John didn't recognise. An adjudicator, he thought. His teacher had said there would be some of them. The new woman walked all the way the front of the hall, and tapped Edward on the shoulder.
This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not after everything he'd put into arranging this. The woman led Edward towards the back of the hall. John, and many other students, watched as he walked. Eventually he passed John and he turned to keep track. As he turned, he saw Alicia, a wide smirk on her lips, looking straight at him. She laughed, and flicked open the test as the teacher called the start of the exam.
--
So that one ran a bit longer, I think. I just wrote for as long as I felt way right, ya know. I think, however, knowing that there was going to be something to cause conflict coming, I began to write that into my prose before I even turned over the stick... So maybe I'll just have to pick a random one out next time, or try one of the other tools.
Find out next time!
L.A. Gladwell out!
8 Oct 2015
Inspiration Writing Challenge - Day 3
Just a quick one today folks as I'm knackered from work. (nb. Anybody who actually reads this. When I'm famous you'll all read this and be like 'wow, he totally never used to have any fans'. Or I'll just never have any fans and nobody will ever read this. Either way...)
Although I guess I could rant about work for a little while. Work. Worky work work. It sucks, I'll say that much. I just really hate being in a job that only pays the bills. I mean, is it too much to ask to actually enjoy what I do for a job? Just a little. Rather than performing simple tasks that a chimpanzee (or even better and cooler, a robot) could perform instead of me. It just gets me down. Especially when work decide they want me in aaaaall the time, when I also have Uni work to do. Or to procrastinate from doing. Either way takes time, ya know.
But I digress, I don't want to turn this into a blog where I just moan all the time to you guys.
So, onto the writing. What? I said just a quick one. Jeez.
Today I'm just gonna use a first sentence stick again as I'm beat and ten minutes seems more than long enough right now.
--
First Sentence Stick - 'Charlotte ate green peppers all day long.' -
Charlotte ate green peppers all day long. She didn't particularly like green peppers, but that was all there was in this place. Her and Bobby were taking shelter in an abandoned farm just off the coast. It was pretty quiet in this area, but it hadn't been abandoned long. The peppers were still edible.
What kind of stupid farmer only grew one kind of vegetable anyway?
Wait... Were Green Peppers vegetables? They had seeds, so Charlotte couldn't decide. She told herself she would look it up when the world returned to normal.
'Charlie!' came Bobby's voice, from outside. At first Charlotte worried as to why Bobby would be shouting for her, but her voice didn't seem panicked. Charlotte rose from where she was sitting in the comforting warmth of the greenhouse and progressed outside to the source of the voice.
'There you are. Help me with this, would you?' Bobby said. She was stood next to an archaic looking tractor, something out of the forties.
'We're not gonna get anywhere on that, Bobby. It looks like it's nearly fossilized.'
'That's why that's not what I wanna use it for, silly. There's some kind of door nearby, leading underground. It's locked tight and I can't find anything to open it with. What I have found is this thing, which has a winch attached.'
'So you're gonna use it to pull the door open?'
'Bingo!' Bobby had a wide smile on her face, obviously impressed with herself.
'Bobby, won't that create... well... a lot of noise? We don't want to attract those things.'
'It'll only be for like, two minutes tops, and we'll be underground afterwards so...'
'So what? We'll be safe? Or trapped?'
Bobby didn't answer. She just dropped her head for a few seconds before looking up at Charlotte, fixing her with those eyes that she just knew she couldn't resist giving in to. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and began swaggering over to her.
'C'moooon Charls. You know that I know you. You know that you're just as curious as I am what's down there.'
'Well... I mean, you're not wrong, it's just-'
'Great!' she whooped, grabbing the winch cable and running towards the door.
--
What's underneath the door? Will the tractor work? What are the things Charlie and Bobby are running from? What happened to world to make people abandon their homes?
Who knows? I sure don't. And you never will either.
On that note, g'night all!
Although I guess I could rant about work for a little while. Work. Worky work work. It sucks, I'll say that much. I just really hate being in a job that only pays the bills. I mean, is it too much to ask to actually enjoy what I do for a job? Just a little. Rather than performing simple tasks that a chimpanzee (or even better and cooler, a robot) could perform instead of me. It just gets me down. Especially when work decide they want me in aaaaall the time, when I also have Uni work to do. Or to procrastinate from doing. Either way takes time, ya know.
But I digress, I don't want to turn this into a blog where I just moan all the time to you guys.
So, onto the writing. What? I said just a quick one. Jeez.
Today I'm just gonna use a first sentence stick again as I'm beat and ten minutes seems more than long enough right now.
--
First Sentence Stick - 'Charlotte ate green peppers all day long.' -
Charlotte ate green peppers all day long. She didn't particularly like green peppers, but that was all there was in this place. Her and Bobby were taking shelter in an abandoned farm just off the coast. It was pretty quiet in this area, but it hadn't been abandoned long. The peppers were still edible.
What kind of stupid farmer only grew one kind of vegetable anyway?
Wait... Were Green Peppers vegetables? They had seeds, so Charlotte couldn't decide. She told herself she would look it up when the world returned to normal.
'Charlie!' came Bobby's voice, from outside. At first Charlotte worried as to why Bobby would be shouting for her, but her voice didn't seem panicked. Charlotte rose from where she was sitting in the comforting warmth of the greenhouse and progressed outside to the source of the voice.
'There you are. Help me with this, would you?' Bobby said. She was stood next to an archaic looking tractor, something out of the forties.
'We're not gonna get anywhere on that, Bobby. It looks like it's nearly fossilized.'
'That's why that's not what I wanna use it for, silly. There's some kind of door nearby, leading underground. It's locked tight and I can't find anything to open it with. What I have found is this thing, which has a winch attached.'
'So you're gonna use it to pull the door open?'
'Bingo!' Bobby had a wide smile on her face, obviously impressed with herself.
'Bobby, won't that create... well... a lot of noise? We don't want to attract those things.'
'It'll only be for like, two minutes tops, and we'll be underground afterwards so...'
'So what? We'll be safe? Or trapped?'
Bobby didn't answer. She just dropped her head for a few seconds before looking up at Charlotte, fixing her with those eyes that she just knew she couldn't resist giving in to. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and began swaggering over to her.
'C'moooon Charls. You know that I know you. You know that you're just as curious as I am what's down there.'
'Well... I mean, you're not wrong, it's just-'
'Great!' she whooped, grabbing the winch cable and running towards the door.
--
What's underneath the door? Will the tractor work? What are the things Charlie and Bobby are running from? What happened to world to make people abandon their homes?
Who knows? I sure don't. And you never will either.
On that note, g'night all!
7 Oct 2015
Inspiration Writing Challenge - Day 2
So, continuing on from what I started yesterday, I will be writing another short piece of prose based on inspiration from The Writer's Toolbox. Today, I will be using one of the 'Non Sequitur' sticks, coupled with a new, different 'First Sentence' stick.
Obviously this writing is experimental and will definitely not be the best example of my work. It is simply for fun, and to keep the creative side of my brain active. It'd be just as easy to keep these to myself, but I thought it'd be fun to put what I create out there, and it provides some nice material to go on this blog!
As for my life, well, studying Professional Writing at University is (finally) in its last year. Just my Final Major Project and all the accompanying (aka boring) assignments.
Three new textbooks turned up this morning, which will go into the pile of books that I have not read. I'll try and skim through and read some relevant sections eventually, but hey, who knows when that will happen. I mean, in all likelihood it will happen the night before an assignment is due and I need something relevant to reference in an essay or something, but hopefully I'll read them before then.
I think 'textbook' is a flawed way of referring to them, too. At their most basic function, books are made up of text. You have picture books, sure, and comic books too, but these are subcategories of books, defining themselves as different. Textbooks, on the other hand, which are usually associated with learning, be it school, college or university, are tautologous in their moniker. Maybe a better way of referring to textbooks would be 'learning books'. Although this sounds something too much like 'Batman's ABC's' or something you would buy for a five year old. Maybe 'educational books'? I guess that's too many syllables. I have to hand it to the word, Textbooks is short and snappy. I guess until somebody comes with something just as short, but less tautologous and more relevant, we'll be stuck calling educational non-fiction books designed for learning 'textbooks'.
Well, that rant was a bit random and got slightly out of hand, so, let's get on with the writing! This time I'm gonna write for ten minutes from each stick, so twenty minutes total.
First Sentence Stick - 'Michael sat down in the middle of the road and began to cry.' -
Non Sequitur Stick - 'On the following Friday, we packed our bags and planned our escape.' -
--
Michael sat down in the middle of the road and began to cry. The wind howled in all directions about him. The car engine hissed behind him as it lay, broken, crumpled like the rest of the car around the thick trunk of the tree. His father lay half-in, half-out of the passenger side, as Michael had attempted to pull him free of the wreckage. His grandfather, the driver, was covered in blood. Michael hadn't been able to open his door, as it was against the hedge.
Something caught Michael's eye in the darkness, a light coming from his father's pocket. The intermittent buzzing of the phone also pricked up Michael's ears. He wiped his eyes, stood up and limped over to his dad. He picked up his father's heavy arm and shifted it to one side, pulling the device from his dark blue jeans.
His Mum was calling. Michael had seen his Dad answer the phone many a time, a quick slide across the touchscreen and you could get to talking. He drew one small finger across the relevant button and - nothing. The phone didn't start the call. His Mum must have stopped ringing.
Suddenly, movement, his Dad's arm shifted back to where it had been before, hanging down at his side.
'DADDY!' yelled Michael. His eyelids fluttered, but ultimately stayed closed. Michael poked him in the ribs, he grunted.
'Mike... Mike...' said his Dad, barely a whisper.
'Yes, Daddy, what should I do?!'
'Call... 999...' came the faint reply. And with that, his father's eyes closed again.
'Daddy?' No response this time.
Michael returned his attention to the phone. He slid the unlock button across the screen, but the phone asked him for the four-digit passcode. His Dad had changed it after he'd caught Michael phoning half the numbers in his phonebook when he was meant to be playing a game. Michael regretted it now. He tried typing in 999 for the passcode. Nothing happened.
There was another button towards the bottom, Michael tried it. This time, and new set of numbers came up. He typed in the numbers again and the phone began to ring through.
'Hello? Please state the nature of your emergency.'
---
On the following Friday, they packed their bags and planned their escape. That was how Michael's Mum sold it to him anyway - an adventure. Her and Michael's father had argued a lot since the accident, and his Grandad was still in the hospital. His father was there now, visiting him.
Mum threw some clothes onto Michael's bed, where he was sat.
'Put those in your bag for me, would you Mikey?'
Michael picked them up with his small, child's hands and threw them haphazardly into the large hold all. His Mum turned around.
'No, no, not like that honey. Like this,' she said, picking up a pair of trousers. She folded them neatly and placed them in one side of the bag. Michael picked up a t-shirt, folded it roughly in half, then half again, then put it in the holdall.
'Close enough.'
'Mummy. Why do we have to leave? What's going on?'
'I told you, Mikey. We're going on an adventure.'
'Going to Nan's isn't an adventure, Mummy.'
She sighed, then hung her head, before slowly turning around to face Michael. She knelt down and put her hands on his knees, so their heads were level.
'Mikey. Grandad isn't very well, okay, Daddy is getting very stressed and angry, and he's taking it out on Mummy. We just have to go and stay at Nan's for a few weeks until this all blows over, yeah?'
Michael nodded, not fully understanding, but getting the general idea.
'Can't Daddy come too?' inquired Michael.
'No... Mikey. Sorry. That's kind of the point,' She couldn't look Michael in the eye. 'Mummy and Daddy just need to sort a few things out, then we can get back to how things were.'
'Okay Mummy.'
Michael continued to put his things in the bag, folding them neatly. His Mum's phone rang, she saw it, Michael saw it, and both went to grab it.
'Not this time, Mikey. I know I usually let you answer for family but this is important, okay?'
He nodded. She answered the phone.
'I see. Okay. Alright. I'm sorry to hear that.'
She hung up, then dropped the phone. And with that, Michael's Mum dropped to the floor, put her head in her hands, and began to cry.
--
Well... That ended up a little darker than I expected, but drama and conflict are the heart of narratives, so they say.
Tune in next time, for more exciting and short stories! But no really please do read tomorrow.
Obviously this writing is experimental and will definitely not be the best example of my work. It is simply for fun, and to keep the creative side of my brain active. It'd be just as easy to keep these to myself, but I thought it'd be fun to put what I create out there, and it provides some nice material to go on this blog!
As for my life, well, studying Professional Writing at University is (finally) in its last year. Just my Final Major Project and all the accompanying (aka boring) assignments.
Three new textbooks turned up this morning, which will go into the pile of books that I have not read. I'll try and skim through and read some relevant sections eventually, but hey, who knows when that will happen. I mean, in all likelihood it will happen the night before an assignment is due and I need something relevant to reference in an essay or something, but hopefully I'll read them before then.
I think 'textbook' is a flawed way of referring to them, too. At their most basic function, books are made up of text. You have picture books, sure, and comic books too, but these are subcategories of books, defining themselves as different. Textbooks, on the other hand, which are usually associated with learning, be it school, college or university, are tautologous in their moniker. Maybe a better way of referring to textbooks would be 'learning books'. Although this sounds something too much like 'Batman's ABC's' or something you would buy for a five year old. Maybe 'educational books'? I guess that's too many syllables. I have to hand it to the word, Textbooks is short and snappy. I guess until somebody comes with something just as short, but less tautologous and more relevant, we'll be stuck calling educational non-fiction books designed for learning 'textbooks'.
Well, that rant was a bit random and got slightly out of hand, so, let's get on with the writing! This time I'm gonna write for ten minutes from each stick, so twenty minutes total.
First Sentence Stick - 'Michael sat down in the middle of the road and began to cry.' -
Non Sequitur Stick - 'On the following Friday, we packed our bags and planned our escape.' -
--
Michael sat down in the middle of the road and began to cry. The wind howled in all directions about him. The car engine hissed behind him as it lay, broken, crumpled like the rest of the car around the thick trunk of the tree. His father lay half-in, half-out of the passenger side, as Michael had attempted to pull him free of the wreckage. His grandfather, the driver, was covered in blood. Michael hadn't been able to open his door, as it was against the hedge.
Something caught Michael's eye in the darkness, a light coming from his father's pocket. The intermittent buzzing of the phone also pricked up Michael's ears. He wiped his eyes, stood up and limped over to his dad. He picked up his father's heavy arm and shifted it to one side, pulling the device from his dark blue jeans.
His Mum was calling. Michael had seen his Dad answer the phone many a time, a quick slide across the touchscreen and you could get to talking. He drew one small finger across the relevant button and - nothing. The phone didn't start the call. His Mum must have stopped ringing.
Suddenly, movement, his Dad's arm shifted back to where it had been before, hanging down at his side.
'DADDY!' yelled Michael. His eyelids fluttered, but ultimately stayed closed. Michael poked him in the ribs, he grunted.
'Mike... Mike...' said his Dad, barely a whisper.
'Yes, Daddy, what should I do?!'
'Call... 999...' came the faint reply. And with that, his father's eyes closed again.
'Daddy?' No response this time.
Michael returned his attention to the phone. He slid the unlock button across the screen, but the phone asked him for the four-digit passcode. His Dad had changed it after he'd caught Michael phoning half the numbers in his phonebook when he was meant to be playing a game. Michael regretted it now. He tried typing in 999 for the passcode. Nothing happened.
There was another button towards the bottom, Michael tried it. This time, and new set of numbers came up. He typed in the numbers again and the phone began to ring through.
'Hello? Please state the nature of your emergency.'
---
On the following Friday, they packed their bags and planned their escape. That was how Michael's Mum sold it to him anyway - an adventure. Her and Michael's father had argued a lot since the accident, and his Grandad was still in the hospital. His father was there now, visiting him.
Mum threw some clothes onto Michael's bed, where he was sat.
'Put those in your bag for me, would you Mikey?'
Michael picked them up with his small, child's hands and threw them haphazardly into the large hold all. His Mum turned around.
'No, no, not like that honey. Like this,' she said, picking up a pair of trousers. She folded them neatly and placed them in one side of the bag. Michael picked up a t-shirt, folded it roughly in half, then half again, then put it in the holdall.
'Close enough.'
'Mummy. Why do we have to leave? What's going on?'
'I told you, Mikey. We're going on an adventure.'
'Going to Nan's isn't an adventure, Mummy.'
She sighed, then hung her head, before slowly turning around to face Michael. She knelt down and put her hands on his knees, so their heads were level.
'Mikey. Grandad isn't very well, okay, Daddy is getting very stressed and angry, and he's taking it out on Mummy. We just have to go and stay at Nan's for a few weeks until this all blows over, yeah?'
Michael nodded, not fully understanding, but getting the general idea.
'Can't Daddy come too?' inquired Michael.
'No... Mikey. Sorry. That's kind of the point,' She couldn't look Michael in the eye. 'Mummy and Daddy just need to sort a few things out, then we can get back to how things were.'
'Okay Mummy.'
Michael continued to put his things in the bag, folding them neatly. His Mum's phone rang, she saw it, Michael saw it, and both went to grab it.
'Not this time, Mikey. I know I usually let you answer for family but this is important, okay?'
He nodded. She answered the phone.
'I see. Okay. Alright. I'm sorry to hear that.'
She hung up, then dropped the phone. And with that, Michael's Mum dropped to the floor, put her head in her hands, and began to cry.
--
Well... That ended up a little darker than I expected, but drama and conflict are the heart of narratives, so they say.
Tune in next time, for more exciting and short stories! But no really please do read tomorrow.
6 Oct 2015
The Beginning of Something (possibly) Amazing (but probably not)
So, I've heard it said in many places - from my tutors, books on writing, interviews with authors, etc, that you should write something like 1000 words every day in order to build up your writing skills. Okay, sounds good right? As long as you have the time and inspiration to do so, both of which I'm usually lacking. Or at least I tell myself that is so.
Okay, so, time for a change, I thought. Let's do something inspirational!
This post (after nearly two years of inactivity - sorry, anybody who actually sees these posts) is therefore the start of (hopefully) a daily writing challenge. So, for, let's say, the next three weeks, everyday I will be writing a short snippet of writing to post onto this blog.
This activity was inspired by my purchasing something called 'The Writer's Toolbox' by one Jamie Cat Callan. In it are various writing prompts and stuff designed to inspire the aspiring writer. These include First Sentences, Non Sequiturs and Last Straws; Some fancy 'Protagonist' spinny wheel thingies; Things called 'Sixth Sense' cards; a helpful book and last but not least - a very nice hourglass that times for I-don't-actually-know how long.
(While writing this blog post I'm listening to the soundtrack from one of my favourite games - Dragon Age: Inquisition.)
So, I'm gonna start simply with the first activity - the first sentence stick. The book tells me to write for 'three to six minutes' but I'm just gonna write for however long the hourglass actually times for.
Okay, so the stick I chose was - 'I loved the way she said "balloon." She said it as if she were blowing bubbles. - so here I go.
I loved the way she said 'balloon', she said it as if she were blowing bubbles. I mean, she probably did blow bubbles. That was her job, working in the toy store, demonstrating all of the toys to the children, enticing them to enforce that skill all diminutive humans possess to the delight of companies and chagrin of parents everywhere - pester power.
That was how I met her, in the toy store with my son. He was adamant that he wanted the new Doctor Who Lego set, which was obviously in no part due to my own inspiration or subtle hints to him. So there we were, when he spotted this woman with a bag of brightly coloured balloons. He immediately rushed over and I had no choice but to follow him. Around her were four children, also accompanied by their parents. My son sat down with them as she began her demonstration.
'Balloons,' she said, in that way that sounded oh so pleasant on my ears. 'They're so much fun! Watch!'
And with that she quickly and skilfully blew up a long, green balloon. She deftly tied a knot in the end and held it aloft above her head.
'That's boring!' one kid yelled.
'Hmmm...' she went, humouring him. 'You're right!'
In five seconds flat she had transformed the balloon into a sword. She gestured for the kid to come over. He did so. She handed him the sword-balloon and he ran off, a huge smile on his face.
'Now,' she continued. 'What shall I make next?'
To my surprise it was my own son who piped up - 'A Dalek! Make a Dalek!'
I was about to speak up to say it would be too complicated when she spoke first.
'No problem, kid! And might I say, awesome request.'
What followed defied belief. To this day, I still don't know how she did it, but no more than three minutes later, there she stood, rubber, tubular Dalek in hand. Without thinking, I started clapping, causing the other parents to turn and stare at me. My son was too busy staring at the swiftly created Dalek. The woman looked up, met my gaze and gave me the most charming smile I'd ever witnessed. I responded in kind with my own lopsided, goofy grin.
That was how I met my second wife.
Right, so that ran slightly over six minutes, clocking in at nearer ten. It's pretty clever how one sentence can inspire so much. Somebody else, anybody else, would have written something completely different. My own tastes and experiences formed what you just read above, which is really what writing is all about - creativity, but more importantly, creativity on a personal scale. Obviously, none of the above is true, just the general fart that came out of my mind when prompted by the, er, writing prompt.
I'm gonna shut up with all the cliche writing bs now and sign off. Hope any of you who read this enjoyed it. Tune in tomorrow for the next (very) short story.
Okay, so, time for a change, I thought. Let's do something inspirational!
This post (after nearly two years of inactivity - sorry, anybody who actually sees these posts) is therefore the start of (hopefully) a daily writing challenge. So, for, let's say, the next three weeks, everyday I will be writing a short snippet of writing to post onto this blog.
This activity was inspired by my purchasing something called 'The Writer's Toolbox' by one Jamie Cat Callan. In it are various writing prompts and stuff designed to inspire the aspiring writer. These include First Sentences, Non Sequiturs and Last Straws; Some fancy 'Protagonist' spinny wheel thingies; Things called 'Sixth Sense' cards; a helpful book and last but not least - a very nice hourglass that times for I-don't-actually-know how long.
(While writing this blog post I'm listening to the soundtrack from one of my favourite games - Dragon Age: Inquisition.)
So, I'm gonna start simply with the first activity - the first sentence stick. The book tells me to write for 'three to six minutes' but I'm just gonna write for however long the hourglass actually times for.
Okay, so the stick I chose was - 'I loved the way she said "balloon." She said it as if she were blowing bubbles. - so here I go.
I loved the way she said 'balloon', she said it as if she were blowing bubbles. I mean, she probably did blow bubbles. That was her job, working in the toy store, demonstrating all of the toys to the children, enticing them to enforce that skill all diminutive humans possess to the delight of companies and chagrin of parents everywhere - pester power.
That was how I met her, in the toy store with my son. He was adamant that he wanted the new Doctor Who Lego set, which was obviously in no part due to my own inspiration or subtle hints to him. So there we were, when he spotted this woman with a bag of brightly coloured balloons. He immediately rushed over and I had no choice but to follow him. Around her were four children, also accompanied by their parents. My son sat down with them as she began her demonstration.
'Balloons,' she said, in that way that sounded oh so pleasant on my ears. 'They're so much fun! Watch!'
And with that she quickly and skilfully blew up a long, green balloon. She deftly tied a knot in the end and held it aloft above her head.
'That's boring!' one kid yelled.
'Hmmm...' she went, humouring him. 'You're right!'
In five seconds flat she had transformed the balloon into a sword. She gestured for the kid to come over. He did so. She handed him the sword-balloon and he ran off, a huge smile on his face.
'Now,' she continued. 'What shall I make next?'
To my surprise it was my own son who piped up - 'A Dalek! Make a Dalek!'
I was about to speak up to say it would be too complicated when she spoke first.
'No problem, kid! And might I say, awesome request.'
What followed defied belief. To this day, I still don't know how she did it, but no more than three minutes later, there she stood, rubber, tubular Dalek in hand. Without thinking, I started clapping, causing the other parents to turn and stare at me. My son was too busy staring at the swiftly created Dalek. The woman looked up, met my gaze and gave me the most charming smile I'd ever witnessed. I responded in kind with my own lopsided, goofy grin.
That was how I met my second wife.
Right, so that ran slightly over six minutes, clocking in at nearer ten. It's pretty clever how one sentence can inspire so much. Somebody else, anybody else, would have written something completely different. My own tastes and experiences formed what you just read above, which is really what writing is all about - creativity, but more importantly, creativity on a personal scale. Obviously, none of the above is true, just the general fart that came out of my mind when prompted by the, er, writing prompt.
I'm gonna shut up with all the cliche writing bs now and sign off. Hope any of you who read this enjoyed it. Tune in tomorrow for the next (very) short story.
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